


Feel Again

by RamblingPug



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2126721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamblingPug/pseuds/RamblingPug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary : '"Do you understand, Four? Do you understand that she's really gone?" she asks in a low voice.' A year has passed since Tris died. Tobias struggles to cope with his grief. Christina is the only one who can get through to him. Rated M for sexual content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel Again

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer : I do not own these characters. They belong to the literary genius, Veronica Roth.

I wake up, drenched in my own sweat, my head throbbing with the vividness of my dream. I am no stranger to the concept of nightmares. I have had them ever since my Abnegation days. My subconscious had always been smattered with the horrific imagery of my father and our helpless submission to his cruelty. But this is worse. This is no ordinary nightmare. This is a daily ritual and it is one I cannot seem to escape.

It is always the same; unfurling in an almost beautiful pace, only to drag me back into the hollowness of the truth I am forced to live with.

I watch her make her way towards me, small and frail as she sits astride me. I push the blonde hair away from those gray-blue eyes that twinkle with a smile she seems to have reserved only for me. She wraps her arms around me and draws my lips into a long, deep kiss. I pull her as close to me as is possible, my hands tracing the contours of her back.

Her body is cold in my heated embrace, but I am so lost in the feeling of being with her that I discard the strange thought. Unable to stop myself, my hands slip under her shirt, down to her waist and then moving upward, my fingers burning against her icy skin. It is then that I feel a strange wetness on my fingertips, rolling down onto my palms.

I tear my lips away from hers and look down. A large red stain grows on the front of her grey shirt, the blood seeping into the fabric and dripping onto my own clothes. My hands are drenched in the blood that comes gushing out of her chest, from the exact spots where the bullets had made their way through her body. I look into her eyes now, dull, gray and lifeless, staring transfixed at an arbitrary point in the distance.

Pain sears through me at the ghastly sight that has unfolded, threatening to break my soul. I think it is at this point that I am able to make the distinction between dream and reality. Once again, I am left alone with the heart wrenching realization that Tris is gone.

I am completely awake and alert now, uncomfortably conscious of the heaviness of my breathing that resounds off the walls of the bedroom. I have had this harrowing dream more times than I can count in the past one year, but it is always the same. I always wake like this, shaking, panting as if I were actually there, watching her die in my arms.

I make my way to the bathroom and splash water onto my face in a bid to relax myself. I scrub my hands furiously, trying to exorcise the feeling of her blood on my hands. Amidst the sound of the water, I hear the sound of a distinctly female voice that rouses me from my thoughts.

"There's nothing on your hands, Four."

I look up into the mirror and my gaze falls upon the reflection besides my own. I am met with a cool, dark gaze that reminds me to snap out of my reverie. She moves closer to me. "Christina, I-" "Let's get you dried up." It is this calm, no-nonsense demeanour that always manages to get to me.

It infuriates me but I don't say anything.

She grabs a towel from the closet and proceeds to wipe my face. She knows that if she leaves me to my own musings I will probably never leave this spot. "I had the same dream again," I tell her as she leads me to the bed.

"I know." Yes, It's always the same dream. I've told her about it, of course she knows.

But I continue anyway, my voice still shaking. "I dreamt that she was kissing me. And then-," "I know," she says again, her tone still blank. "She's dead," I manage to choke out. "I know," she says for the third time, and this I suspect a hint of a tremor in her voice. But she looks at me with those dark eyes which look so unfazed, that it grates on my nerves. The anger is now audible in my tone. "You don't understand, Christina."

"I don't understand what, Four? That you have nightmares about her bleeding to death in your arms? That you were unable to save her?" She turns around and looks at me her eyes now darker and somewhat hardened.

The dim yellow light from her bedroom reflects off her brown skin and casts a shadow on her face. For a second, she looks almost beautiful.

But it was only a second, for her harsh words had already jolted me from my momentary distraction. "I live with you. I go through your nightmares with you almost every night. And you still say that I don't understand?"

I know she is right. She stays with me every night, without me asking, without intruding into my personal space. Just being there for me. But for some reasons I can't fathom, anger swells within me anyway. But I try to keep quiet.

"Do you understand, Four? Do you understand that she's really gone?" she asks in a low voice.

My self-restraint vanishes and I lunge at her. Christina is fast, but not faster than I am. In my blinding fury, I have pinned her against the wall.

"Is this what they taught you in Candor, Christina?" I almost growl at her. "To be honest, even at the cost of hurting others?"

Because that is the real trouble we have always had. It's not that we do not understand each other. We understand each other perfectly. But our coping mechanisms are so very different. "But she's dead," she whispers, and I can tell she's trying to be soft.

A tear rolls, unbidden down my cheek. I hate crying. It reminds me of my father and the powerlessness I felt at his hands. Christina cups my cheek, and brushes away the tear.

It is surprising how gentle her hands can be in contrast with her blunt words.

She moves closer to me and as she places her lips on mine, I can't help but feel powerless all over again.

Her lips taste of the berry flavor that I have seen her applying numerous times. As I inhale the sweet scent, it faintly registers in my mind that her kiss is soft and comforting.

A complete stranger, compared to Tris' rough lips on mine.

When I think of her, my momentary repose is lost and I am frustrated all over again. I fist my hands in Christina's hair, angling her mouth upward, demanding more.

Her eyes fly open at my actions. She is startled and I don't blame her. I am too. But she doesn't break away from the kiss and for that I am thankful.

I'm not sure what exactly it is that I crave right now, but it is more than just comfort. I don't want her soft kisses, and I don't want her to soothe me. There is a reservoir of frustration and misplaced hunger deep within me and it is threatening to break free.

"Four," she breathes, panting when I let her come up for air. I know she's probably wondering what that kiss was all about and honestly, so am I, but there will be time for talk later. The only thing I am able to grasp now, is an inexplicable, crazed need for her.

As I capture her mouth once more, we stumble backwards onto her bed, with me on top of her. I see directly into her eyes, pools of deep brown which are filled with unsurety, now that we have pulled apart once more. I pause for a second, the look in her eyes has completely thrown me. I don't know what I'm doing. This.. This isn't right.

Backing away from her, I tell her the only thing I do know. "I need you, Christina. But you don't have to do this." But despite my embarrassment and shame at lunging at my best friend without warning, I am unable to tear myself away from her.

She wraps her arms around me, closing the distance my guilt had caused between us. Once again, she has managed to surprise me.

"You can push me away, you know?" She shakes her head, the corners of her mouth turning up in a hint of a smile. "Why would I? I kissed you first, didn't I?"

She runs her hands through my hair and pulls my face closer to hers till our lips are almost touching. "Maybe," she whispers, her breath warm on my lips, "Maybe I need you too, Tobias."

There is a pang of sorrow that accompanies the use of my real name, one that I cannot ignore. Tris was the only one who would ever call me that. It feels strange coming from someone else.

Strange, but not necessarily unpleasant.

But I withdraw, unable to look her in the eye. I put a safe distance between the both of us. This isn't what I should be doing. Surely I should sort out my feelings before I get with another girl.

She sighs. "Look at me," she says. And I comply.

Now that I have moved away from her embrace, it should be alright to look at her. I can apologize. I can explain to her that I am just messed up and doing things without thinking.

Not that she doesn't know that, of course.

She gets off the bed and slowly begins to unbutton her nightshirt, never once taking her eyes off of me. I want to ask her what she's doing, but my throat seems to have gone dry. She takes off her pants and I can see that the baggy clothing has concealed the shape of her legs only too well. Her dark skin looks bronzed in the afterglow of the dim yellow in her room, making her look almost warrior-like.

I am breathing hard, just looking at her across the room, in her underclothed state. I need to stop this before I am driven totally mad.

She crawls over to me on the bed and places her hands on my bare chest. My body tenses at her touch and I know that I am going to lose all sense of reason pretty soon.

"Christina," I manage to croak. "Wha-" "-Shush," she whispers placing a finger on my lips and proceeds to put her legs around me, straddling my lap. She pulls my hands to place them on her hips, securing her position.

I can feel my blood rushing south.

"We don't have to talk about it, you know." She is doing that thing again, where her lips brush mine while she speaks. I can smell something that I guess as strawberry, and it is pure torture to not crush my mouth against hers.

"We don't even have to think about.. this," she murmurs as she arches, brushing her chest against mine. I groan as the flimsy material of her bra lets me feel her aroused nipples poking into my chest. "We could just feel..," she trails off. "Just for a little while."

It is as if she is pleading now. And judging by the blatant reaction of my body as she grinds her hips into mine, I am only too willing to oblige.

I fist my hands into her cropped hair, turning her upwards into my waiting kiss. She is right. Just for a little while I want to forget. The war. The pain and loss. The nightmares of her. I want to forget everything. And just  _feel._

I push her onto her back and take a second to look at her. I drink in the sight of her long, lithe body clothed in nothing but her translucent bra and panties, breathing heavily.

She is looking up at me expectantly. I want to tell her that we may be doing this for all the wrong reasons, but she really is beautiful.

But instead I capture her lips once more, pinning her onto the bed. She kisses me back fervently, our tongues playing. Her arms wrap around me and she pulls me closer, and I can feel the insistent pressure at my groin become unbearable as she presses her slender curves into me.

I know now, that I am far beyond the point of no return.

I can hear the faint noise of my zipper coming undone, as I kiss her unreservedly, my hands playing with her breasts. Her hands are cool against my heat as she strokes me.

"Christina," I groan. "You're right." My words break down into short breaths as she bends down and swirls her tongue against the tip of my member. "We should definitely just-Oh fuck, Christina." I cannot help but swear as she takes me in her mouth completely. On their own, my hands move to the back of her head, steadying her as she continues her sweet torture, licking and sucking me.

"We should definitely just  _feel_."

* * *

Hours later, she is collapsed in my arms, the both of us utterly spent and still catching our breaths. My natural instincts are dragging me into the depths of the deep, dreamless sleep that has eluded me for days. But I can't leave it like this. We need to talk. Regardless of how mind-blowing the sex might have been, I have just slept with my best friend and that fact isn't just going to go away if we leave it unaddressed.

But I am at a loss of words. There is nothing that I can tell her that she doesn't already know. So I start with the obvious anyway.

"Christina," I say gently. Her head is on my chest, her dark hair fanned out behind it and unable to stop myself, I run my fingers through it.

"Don't ever say I don't understand, Tobias," she says, softly. Her voice is shaking. I try to turn and face her, but she doesn't let me, burrowing her face into my chest. "I miss him too, you know."

Her tears are falling freely onto my body and I feel a tightness in my chest. Of course she does.

The struggle has taken away so much from us. Our identities. Our homes. Our loves. I am not the only one who is grieving. She has lost her love too. And she is coping. She has managed to survive without turning into an emotional wreck at every thought of him.

But that doesn't mean she isn't broken. She is hurt and damaged but has somehow found the will to try and heal herself. And me.

I guess how much ever she tries to suppress it, the Candor in her will always resurface. There is pain behind the brave facade that she paints every day, and in this moment there is nothing I wish for more than to take it all away. I wish I could wipe her tears and tell her that everything will be okay.

But it has been a year and the wounds we have sustained are like deep gashes that reopen every single day.

So I hold her close to me and tell her the only thing I do know. "We'll get through this," I murmur into her hair, "Together."

**Author's Note:**

> A/N : I know that Four/Christina is an unusual pairing, but this idea had been lingering in my mind ever since I finished Allegiant. Although I ship Four/Tris just as much as everyone else out here, there was something about Christina's character that just got me hooked.
> 
> This was my first Divergent fic. So please do review, any comments (even negative ones) will only help me get better. :)
> 
> Pug


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